to hand Capitaine
Duval Brown's business card. "He is outside."
"What is the matter with you?" Duval growled.
"Can't you see I'm busy? Have him come back
tomorrow." He had just received word that there were a
dozen more reporters on their way, some from as far away as
Russia and South Africa, "Demain."
"Oui."
"Are you ready, Capitaine?" the director asked. Capitaine
Duval smiled. "I'm ready."
The sergeant returned to the outer office. "I am sorry,
monsieur. Capitaine Duval is out of business today."
"So am I," George snapped. "Tell him that all he has to
do is sign a paper authorizing the release of Mr. Stanley's
body, and I'll be on my way. That's not too much to ask, is
it?"
"I am afraid, yes. The capitaine has many responsibles,
and..."
"Can't someone else give me the authorization?"
"Oh, no, monsieur. Only the capitaine can do the
authority."
George Brown stood there, seething.
"When can I see him?"
"I suggest if you try again tomorrow morning."
The phrase try again grated on George's ears. "I'll do
that," he said. "By the way, I understand there was an
eyewitness to the accident...Mr. Stanley's bodyguard,
Donald Herman."
"Yes."
"I would like to talk to him. Could you tell me where he's
staying?"
"Australia."
"Is that a hotel?"
"No, monsieur." There was pity in his voice. "It is a
country."
George's voice raised an octave. "Are you telling me that
the only eyewitness to Stanley's death was allowed by the
police to leave here before anyone could interrogate him?"
"Capitaine Duval interrogated him."
George took a deep breath. "Thank you."
"No problems, monsieur."
When George returned to his hotel, he reported back to
Frank Harold.
"It looks like I'm going to have to stay another night
here."
"What's going on, George?"
"The man in charge seems to be very busy. It's the
tourist season. He's probably looking for some lost purses. I
should be out of here by tomorrow."
"Stay in touch."
In spite of his irritation, George found the island of
Corsica enchanting. It had almost a thousand miles of
coastline, with soaring, granite mountains that stayed
snow-topped until July. The island had been ruled by the
Italians until France took it over, and the combination of the
two cultures was fascinating.
During his dinner at the Hotel, he remembered how
Frank Harold had described Robert Stanley. "He was the
only man I've ever known who was totally without
compassion ... sadistic and spiteful... "
Well, Robert Stanley is causing a hell of a lot of trouble
even in death, George thought. On his way to his hotel,
George stopped at a newsstand to pick up a copy of the
International Herald Tribune. The headline read: WHAT
WILL HAPPEN TO WHOLE STANLEY EMPIRE? He paid
for the newspaper, and as he turned to leave, his eye was
caught by the headlines in some of the other foreign papers
on the stand. He picked them up and, looked through them,
stunned. Every single newspaper had front-page stories
about the death of Robert Stanley, and in each one of them,
Capitaine Duval was prominently featured, his photograph
beaming from the pages. So that's what's keeping him so
busy! We'll see about that.
At nine forty-five the following morning, George
returned to Capitaine Duval's reception office. The sergeant
was not at his desk, and the door to the inner office was
slightly open. George pushed it to open and stepped inside.
The capitaine was changing into a new uniform, preparing
for his morning press interviews. He looked up as George
entered.
"Qu'est-ce que vous faites ici? C'est un bureau privet.
Allez-vous-en! "
"I'm with The New York Times," George Brown said.
Instantly, Duval brightened. "Ah, come in, come in.
You said your name is ..."
"Jones. Tom Jones."
"Can I offer you something, perhaps? Coffee? Cognac?"
"Nothing, thanks," George said.
